


and you can tell everybody this is your song

by inlightofvisa



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: ABORT ABORT, CHARACTER DEATH AHEAD, M/M, WARNING WARNING, also, and i had feelings, and it made my heart hurt, but this is because of a tumblr post, i apologize that dean is so not present, so i had to share feelings with everyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-03
Updated: 2012-09-03
Packaged: 2017-11-13 10:58:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/502780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlightofvisa/pseuds/inlightofvisa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ingredients:<br/>1 Derek Hale<br/>1 Stiles Stilinski<br/>1 demon<br/>A pinch of Dean Winchester</p>
<p>Blend until you have feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and you can tell everybody this is your song

**Author's Note:**

> Original post that inspired this: http://strange-era.tumblr.com/post/28582885551  
> I apologize for Dean just being very not present. And for Sam being non-existent, because I just can't write either of them. So you're going to have to deal with them on the peripheries. And Sam not existing because I can't.

Derek sprints through the rickety wooden door and slams it behind him, panting. Dean eyes him from across the room, moonbeams slanting across his face.

“Dammit, Derek,” he grits out, holding a hand over his side, attempting to staunch the bleeding. “That thing is _not_ Stiles.”

Derek frowns.

“It…” he starts before trailing off. “It…”

“It just wants to kill, and that’s all,” Dean says, looking at Derek head on. Dean’s heartbeat remains constant and steady, but Derek’s gaze stutters and sweep to the floor.

“It’s not Stiles anymore, is it,” Derek says quietly, clenching his hands into fists.

“No,” Dean answers slowly, awkwardly raising his arm in an aborted attempt to offer some sort of comfort. Derek turns away, squeezing his eyes closed and lets the shift take over in just his hands, nails piercing his palms. He hisses in pain. Blood drips from his hands onto the floor in a slow, steady _splat-splat-sploosh_.

“We’ve gotta kill him, don’t we,” Derek says more than asks. His eyes are still closed, as if it can blot out the harsh reality of what they have to do. It’s _Stiles_ , the annoyingly persistent diligent ball of light that has managed to worm his way into Derek’s life. And maybe his heart.

“Yeah,” Dean says sternly. “He’s too far gone.”

There aren’t any skips in his heart beat. Derek worries his lip with his teeth before opening his eyes, irises a heated scarlet, vision going red.

“Tell me what to do,” he orders, fangs elongating and hair erupting from his jawline. Dean returns his stare before looking away swiftly.

“Normal methods of killing won’t work on the demon,” he says, tiptoeing around Stiles’ name. “Only this knife is gonna work.”

He hands Derek the knife and Derek takes it in his hand, feeling the aged wood and watching the moonlight shimmer off the symbols inscribed in the metal. The blade seems to hum and mumble in some language, both deep and shadowy as well as light and airy.

 “I’m ready,” he says, cracking his neck. He tries to ignore how his heart thunders and skips a beat in his ear.

“You tell yourself that, but you’re never going to be ready for what you’re going to do,” Dean replies, gruff, heartbeat ever steady but voice breaking. It’s clear that this is destroying him at some level as well. “You’ll never be ready.”

The wooden door falls open with a crash as the demon saunters into the room.

“Done running?” it asks. Derek tries to control himself, but can’t help a shiver run through his body. He knows that the _thing_ in Stiles’ body isn’t natural and has to continuously fight the instinct to run, to flee, to just get out out out.

“This is your last chance,” he growls, “Leave him alone.”

“And what if I say no?” the demon says, voice dripping honey sweet and eyes jet black. Derek growls and leaps at the demon with the knife. Its eyes widen in shock as the knife scratches its arm. The demon slips quickly out of the way, stumbling a bit and holding Stiles’ arm.

“I’ll cut you out,” Derek says, voice shaky. The demon clicks its tongue at him.

“You still don’t want to hurt this body, eh?” it asks, cocking Stiles’ head to the side. “Well, this is going to be fun.”

“Derek! It’s not him, it’s not Stiles anymore!” Dean shouts from somewhere behind him. The demon hefts a table and some other furniture in the hunter’s direction before moving closer to Derek.

“He’s wrong, you know,” the demon says, eyes turning back human-side. They’re Stiles’ amber-gold eyes. The ones that Derek could get lost finding himself in. The ones Derek has started to associate with safety, security, and… love. “Stiles is all here. Watching himself hurt you.” The demon pauses before smirking. The air turns foul with sulfur. “He has a huge crush on you, Mr. Werewolf. Or, should I say Mr. Sourwolf.”

Derek howls before lunging at the demon, claws and teeth bared.

“That’s not going to work, remember?” the demon cackles, catching one of Derek’s arm. Derek snarls before jabbing the knife into the demon’s chest. Black smoke starts to ooze from the wound and the demon’s mouth.

“You—”

“Give. Stiles. _Back_ ,” he growls, and the smoke vanishes. Stiles’ eyes fall shut and he coughs.

“Derek?” Stiles’ voice is infinitely small. Derek lets go of the hilt of the knife and cradles Stiles’ head, lowering them both to the floor.

“Stiles, I’m so sorry,” he says, voice gravelly. “Stiles.”

Derek doesn’t even remember that Dean is still in the room until he feels a hand on his shoulder. He looks up in surprise.

“If you want to turn him, I won’t stop you,” he says.

“I- I’m not being bitten,” Stiles protests, ever vocal regardless of blood loss. “I am _not_ getting the bite.” His voice is getting more and more hysterical. Derek hears Dean’s footsteps echo further away before he opens his mouth.

“Thank you,” he says, voice rough around the edges. He misses Dean raise his left hand in acknowledgment, but doesn’t fail to catch that Dean will be waiting outside in his car when he’s finished. Derek turns back to face Stiles, who lies trembling in his hands.

“Derek, I’m sorry that I did all those things to you and that guy,” he says, words barely dusting the air. “I’m sorry I did all of that, I’m sorry you got hurt, I’m sorry.”

Derek wipes away the tears on Stiles’ cheeks with the pad of his thumb.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he says, biting his lips and exhaling heavily. “ _I’m_ sorry.” He leans down to kiss Stiles gently. Stiles convulses and clings to Derek’s arms.

“Whatever happens, I’m not getting the bite,” Stiles says. There’s a blip in his heartbeat, but Derek can’t bring himself to bite Stiles. Stiles may want the bite, but he doesn’t want the bite. And Derek can’t force it on him. “I’m not getting the bite,” Stiles repeats again, quieter and breathier this time.

“Shut up,” Derek says, ignoring the hitch in his breath and pressing his forehead to Stiles’. He can’t bring himself to care that his eyes are stinging and watering, that tears might be rolling down his face, that he’s falling apart over a teenage boy like a _teenager._ “Shut up, shut up, shut up, I love you, shut up.”

“Sourwolf,” Stiles sighs fondly. “I.”

Derek’s lone heartbeat has never been so deafening.


End file.
